Dazed and Confused
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Dark Side of the Moon tag: The Winchesters go after their murderers and find answers...just not the ones they're looking for.


**Dazed and Confused**  
K Hanna Korossy

For once—for the only time, maybe, when Sam was sitting next to him alive and well—Dean Winchester really and truly did not care.

Didn't care that Sam was hunched small and pained in the seat beside him. Didn't care about the deafening silence in the car. Couldn't have cared less that beyond the mission they were on now, Dean had no clue where they were going next, nor had any ideas left for stopping the Apocalypse. Honestly, at the moment, he wasn't even able to muster much concern over the idea of being Michael's shell. At least that would mean it would all be over, right?

"Turn here," Sam said very quietly, consulting his GPS before glancing over at Dean.

Dean didn't look back, just turned onto the dirt road.

The hell of it—literally—was that Famine had been right. Recent events should've dug a hole in Dean's gut so deep, he ought to have been drowning in the pain that filled it. Instead, he just felt…empty. Dead inside, just like the Horseman said. Watching Sam violently killed, seeing Sam's idea of Heaven, being rejected by what looked and sounded like his mom, God's lack of interest and Cas's loss of faith: it was too much. And something in Dean had quietly, mercifully, _finally_ just…shut down.

"So…Walt and Roy," Sam started hesitantly beside him. "You got any thoughts what we're gonna do with 'em?"

"Kill 'em," Dean said calmly. It was the one promise he was looking forward to keeping.

Sam opened his mouth. Dean's utter lack of concern included worrying about whatever words would fall out of his brother's mouth next, but then Sam seemed to think better of it and just nodded.

Good. Dean didn't feel like talking anyway.

Silence had hung heavily since they'd put the motel in their rearview that morning, their blood and Dean's amulet left behind in the room. Not that Dean cared about that, either, or how much he guessed that had hurt Sam. No one had bothered to check out the noise of the shooting, of course, and the hours in Heaven appeared to have passed almost instantaneously in earthly time. But it had felt like forever to Dean, and it was with almost relief that he'd departed the blood-spattered room.

Almost. Just like he'd almost felt satisfaction when Sam had worked some of his computer mojo on the way and learned that Walt and Roy had a little cabin tucked away in the mountains and had been spied by a traffic camera in the nearest town. The cabin the Winchesters were approaching now, its windows glinting through the trees in the light of the setting sun.

Dean slowed to a stop. The car was both too loud to get close and too low to manage the increasingly uneven road. They could hike in. Without a word to Sam, Dean turned off the engine and got out, moving around back to the trunk.

Sam joined him there. He took the shotgun Dean shoved at him and checked automatically to see if it was loaded before clearing his throat. "We should talk before we go in."

"Nothing to talk about." Dean popped the magazine from the Colt, tapped it, and slid it back into place.

"I don't mean about Walt and Roy—if you wanna drop 'em, I'm not gonna stop you."

Dean snorted: that was generous of Sam considering he couldn't have if he tried.

Sam's voice fell. "I mean us, what we saw in—"

Dean finally looked at him, surprised anew by the total lack of emotion it roused in him, seeing Sam's pinched face and distressed eyes. It was kinda…refreshing. "Same answer, Sam. Look, I'm not mad, I'm not hurt, I'm not distracted. It is what it is—at least I know where I stand. And it's fine. I get it—time to move on. Let's go do this."

"You don't." Sam's eyes were bright even as he hiccupped a laugh. "You don't get it at all, Dean."

Dean shook his head. "Whatever. I'm goin'—you coming?" Without waiting for an answer, he eased the trunk shut and started toward the house.

Sam quickly fell in behind him, watching his six.

Dean couldn't even seem to muster any appreciation. Wasn't like he could die and stay dead, right?

Despite the disconnect between them, they slipped into hunting mode like the fine-tuned machine their dad had made sure they were. One glance at his brother had Dean creeping to the cabin's front door while Sam slipped around to the back. Dean waited fifteen, then kicked the door in, hearing Sam bust in at the same moment from the other side.

The cabin was pretty much one big room, rustic and sparsely furnished. It didn't take long to see it was not only empty, but hadn't been occupied in months.

Dean frowned, gun dropping. Why would those two idiots be in the area if they weren't coming there? It was almost like…someone had wanted to make it seem like they were there. Like a trap. "What the—?"

"—Hell?" a strange voice finished from the shadows in the corner. A lithe figure moved out into the weak light sifting through the dirty windows, apparently unconcerned as Dean and Sam immediately brought their guns up to bear on her. "For once, you're right, Dean. I guess even a blind man hits the bull's-eye sometimes." And then the blonde's eyes went black.

Dean's finger jerked on the trigger, but by the time the shotgun discharged, it was sailing out of his grip, hitting the floor on the far side of the room. Sam's clattered next to it a second later.

"Now, boys, that's not too friendly," the demon chided. "And here I thought we'd have a nice chat." Two other figures stepped out from the one remaining door in the room and flanked her, both of them big men in flannel and denim and coal eyes.

So far there had been no slamming them against the walls, but the casual way she'd disarmed them and the bad odds kept Dean frozen in place, face stony. He could feel similar tension pouring off his silent brother. "Let me guess—you two were riding Walt and Roy this morning when they paid us a visit." Dean was surprised the Bobbsey twins weren't lying on the cabin floor with their necks broken. Wherever they were, they probably weren't still breathing air.

The blonde, middle-aged but petite and curvy and totally MILF material if her eyes didn't look like tar, gave Dean a pitying smile as she came closer to him. "Oh, darlin', you just don't get it, do you? I didn't _have_ to make those two idiots do anything. I just told them where you were and they did the rest. Seemed to have a bone to pick with Sam—something about ending the world?" She cast a pleasant glance at Sam.

Dean followed her gaze to see Sam go pale beneath his sour expression. Dean hadn't told him that Walt and Roy had been there for him alone, shooting Dean only as insurance, but he was betting Sam remembered Walt saying they weren't the only hunters after him. An unexpected, unwanted tendril of feeling broke through Dean's apathy as he saw his brother swallow.

"Yeah? Lucifer know about this plan to gank his vessel?" he asked, drawing the demon's attention back to himself.

She turned coyly back to him. "Death doesn't stop something like Lucifer. He would've fixed up his meat suit just fine." A detail the demons had doubtless forgotten to mention to Walt and Roy. "No, Dean, you were the real target here. Maybe you haven't heard, but there's a nice little bounty on your head." She was inches from him now, her breath minty and warm.

Dean didn't let himself wonder about the girl who'd owned that body, just gave its current occupant a smirk. "Actually, I have. And honestly? I'm a little insulted it's not bigger."

Sam shifted where he stood.

That broke the demon's gaze from Dean. Without looking, a casual motion sent Sam flying back, thudding into a chair that almost gave under the strain. Dean immediately tried to move, only to find himself locked in place, hands glued to his side, feet to the floor.

Sam's hand crept under his jacket to where he kept the demon-killing knife.

He froze when the blonde demon sauntered over to him. "Sam, Sam, Sam. Not sure what the Master sees in you, but we've got our orders. Still, this can go one of two ways. You can leave, right now, just walk away untouched. Or, if you get all heroic and insist on staying with your brother, that's fine…but we'll be serving drinks. And we won't take no for an answer."

Sam's throat bobbed, and when he looked over at Dean, his face was full of horror.

Dean's own chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with the demon's hold. He could see his brother's panic, the terror at the thought of ingesting demon blood again. Withdrawal had nearly done them both in last time, one of the worst things Dean had ever been through, or watched his brother go through.

But Sam wasn't walking away and taking the easy way out.

Dean thawed a little at the indecision in Sam's eyes. The fact he was thinking about this at all, not just ducking out while he had the chance, filled some of the hollowness inside Dean.

And made him hurt again.

He met Sam's eyes directly and openly for the first time that day. "It's okay, Sam, just go."

Sam's mouth set stubbornly. "I'm not leaving you here, Dean."

"Yes, you are." There was an echo to another place and time, another desperate situation, Dean again telling his brother to let him go. Death they could and had dealt with. Sam pumped up on tainted blood was a whole bucket of worse. "You can't stay, you know that. I'll be okay. Got an angel in my corner, too, right?" He twisted up the corner of his lips for the sake of his brother.

Sam's expression was raw. "Dean…"

"Go, Sammy."

Sam flinched like the nickname hurt, when Dean knew it was the other way around: Sam knew now it wasn't about martyrdom, or Dean not caring, or some sort of punishment for "Heaven." Dean was choosing to put him first.

Breathing heavily, Sam nodded at him, one anguished look conveying everything. Then he glared at the demons, turned, and walked out.

Dean deflated. Relief—he was relieved. Sam was safe. That was still his bottom line, even after everything. The rest he could deal with.

But Dean was also alone. And even if Michael did come through for his vessel, or God popped him back to Earth, it still sucked to be left to face three demons on his own. He honestly hadn't wanted Sam to stay, but some part of Dean was still stung that he'd left.

Dean pulled his head back into the game as the demon sauntered back to him, even managed a grin. "Why don't you send Moe and Larry there outside, too? Keep it just you and me?"

Her smile was slow and slyly seductive. "Oh? And then what'd you have in mind?"

Dean winked at her. "Let me go and you'll see."

She laughed at that, long throat stretched back. "Oh, Dean. Always up for a good time." She leaned in, sharing her cleavage along with her pearly whites. "But you know, I had something else in mind." She straightened, beckoning casually over her shoulder to the demonic duo.

One thug crossed the room, hands curling into fists and mouth into a scary smile.

The first punch drove all the air from Dean, paralyzing his diaphragm for a long, frightening moment while his lungs struggled for air. Dean had just managed to squeak a breath in when the next blow slammed it out of him again. By the third, spots were starting to gather at the corners of his vision.

The fist rose again, this time aiming for his face. Even if Dean hadn't been restrained by invisible bonds, he would've been helpless, oxygen-starved body flopping weakly.

And then the demon jerked, frowning.

Blondie did, too. "What?" she muttered, expression torn between anger and puzzlement. Scowling, she strode over to the front door, threw it open…and bounced back against an invisible barrier.

Even over his harsh panting and coughs, Dean could hear the chanting now through the open door. Sam's voice, low and shaky but determined.

He hadn't left.

All three demons had begun writhing in place, fighting the exorcism. The girl stared at Dean, hatred turning to fear as her mouth was forced open and up. And then three whirlwinds of black smoke were whipping through the room and out the door.

Gasping, Dean fell to his knees, just managing to catch himself with one hand before his face smacked the floor.

"Dean!"

Blood was still roaring through his head, but he heard Sam nonetheless, felt it when his brother's dropped to the floor beside him. Dean grabbed his arm, trying to steady his own breathing and still his shaking.

The sleeve he touched was warm and tacky-wet. As Dean focused blearily on him, he could see Sam's right hand wrapped around his left arm, blood leaking between his fingers.

"S-Sam," he rasped. "W—?"

"More of 'em outside, man—a lot more. We gotta go."

He nodded, body sore but mostly under his control now. Enough that he could shove Sam up as much as lean against him as they both struggled to their feet. "Go, let's go," Dean sputtered.

They stumbled outside, Dean noting the heavy line of salt as they passed it. And the shadows forming out of the trees around them. Like the welcoming committee inside hadn't been enough.

It was a clumsy escape at best. Dean kept half-expecting to get yanked back by an invisible bungee cord at any moment. But either the demons really had been taken by surprise or they were afraid of harming Lucifer's vessel, because nothing stopped the Winchesters from reaching the car. Dean slid across the hood in a move that would have made the Duke boys proud, then cranked the motor to life as Sam also jumped inside.

"Go, go," Sam urged as lights flared on through the trees.

"Going," Dean responded, backing the car up along the dark, rutted road with what was probably a really reckless speed. A minute later they were back on the highway, pushing the speedometer into the red.

"They're coming after us," Sam reported, half-turned in the seat to look back.

Dean glanced over, catching sight of a shiny dark patch on his arm. "Awesome." He pushed the gas pedal down a little harder. "Where're we goin'?"

Sam was silent a moment. "Blue Earth's close. Pastor Jim's place?"

Weapons and a defensible space. Dean nodded. Then looked over again at Sam, who was still clutching his arm. "You came back."

Sam scoffed. "You didn't think I was going to just leave you there, did you?"

Dean chewed his lip, eyes skewing to the left in silence.

He could hear Sam's sigh. "I thought we… Look, I'm _not_ walking out on you, all right? Not again, not ever. I know you don't believe me, but I'm gonna prove it to you, Dean, I swear. I'm not gonna give up again."

Dean wound his shaky hands tighter around the wheel.

"That wasn't my Heaven," Sam continued urgently. "Not anymore than…Mom fighting with Dad was yours. They're trying to split us up, man—can't you see that?"

Dean's eyes cut to the headlights in the mirror, then back to the road. No cop around when you needed one, of course, not that a cop would slow a truck full of demons down very much.

_That wasn't my Heaven. _He was trying not to hear the words, to think. _They're trying to split us up. _

_I'm not walking out on you. Not ever._

Sam shifted his grip and grunted.

Dean's forehead bunched and he looked over. Sam's face was drawn, but it usually was those days. "Take this off," Dean said gruffly, pulling at the collar of Sam's jacket.

The movement swung a leather cord into view, something golden shining dully at its end. Something Dean knew extremely well from seeing it in the mirror so many years.

Sam quickly slipped the necklace back under his shirt, eyes avoiding Dean's as he eased his jacket off, biting off a groan. "It's not too bad," he said quickly, even though his voice was gruff with pain.

Dean swerved to miss a dead deer half in the road. Revved the engine again, pushing until his baby strained. Felt the dull ache inside him where the hollowness had been just an hour before.

And he couldn't be sorry for it.

"Okay," he whispered.

"Okay?" Sam questioned, confused.

Dean stole another glance at him, giving him a hard look that softened right at the end. "Okay, Sam."

Sam let out a long breath, some of the lines of strain easing from his face. "Okay."

They were doing forty above the speed limit, demons hot on their tail, no allies left to appeal to, only a slim chance for refuge ahead. And Dean didn't care about any of that.

Just, for some stupid reason, the moron bleeding all over the seat next to him.

**The End**


End file.
